


A Flash of Recognition

by sweaters_for_sociopaths



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Zombie Apocalypse, I Can't Believe I Wrote This, I Don't Even Know, M/M, What Have I Done, Zombie!lock, sorry - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-08
Updated: 2016-08-08
Packaged: 2018-08-07 08:23:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,422
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7707871
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sweaters_for_sociopaths/pseuds/sweaters_for_sociopaths
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He was smarter and more aware then by all right and reason says he should be.<br/>Sherlock was brilliant alive, so even dead it wasn’t all that surprising John supposed.<br/>Sherlock was a zombie.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Flash of Recognition

**Author's Note:**

> So yeah this happened. I took down My FF account cause I never use it and figure I post some of my old fics here. this was one of my Sherlock ones.

           He was smarter and more aware then by all right and reason says he should be.

           Sherlock was brilliant alive, so even dead it wasn’t all that surprising John supposed.

           Sherlock was a zombie.

           Yes. Dead... sort of.

           Mycroft lead John into a sterile looking white room, the dead littered about all over the floor, the guards held the guns in Mycroft just behind them. Their semi-automatic rifles pointed at his Sherlock, John was still just outside the door but he could still hear the sounds of a growling animal, nothing at all human about it.

           “John… I… Sherlock is not himself anymore, and I thought it might be best if you said good bye. He would have wanted you to end it for him. Sherlock would never tolerate being reduced to something so…” Mycroft’s words trailed off.

           “Dull.” John finished for him. No, _his_ Sherlock really wouldn’t ever want to be dull. This would be the last thing John could do for him.

           Stepping into the room the guards had parted for him, letting him through their plexi-glass barricade separating them from Sherlock’s attacks. He had his back to John his hands swiping at the shaking guard on the farthest wall. It was for the best, thought John, steeling himself once again for when Sherlock would turn to face him. John step into the confined space with the growling, base instinct-controlled creature, that was once upon a time, his friend.

           “Sherlock.” John said his voice wavering slightly. The silent gasp leaving him when Sherlock turned to look. Blood around his mouth, his eyes blue as ever but dilated no light effecting them. He looked as he always did his clothes slightly wrinkled but no apparent gashes or gapping wounds to prove his deadness.

           Sherlock’s…the creature’s, John reminded himself, head tilted to the side taking a step in John’s direction. Some of the guns muzzles scraped across the walls of the makeshift cage poking through little holes to fire.

           Another step.

           John raised the gun.

           Another step.

           The gun trembled in John’s hand.

           Another step.

           “Sherlock, I’m…I’m sorry. You were the best man and the most human… human being that I have ever known. I..I was so… so alone and I owe you so much. I love you.” John looked at Sherlock’s eyes one last time and saw something flicker in them before he could catch it, it was gone.

           No more steps came, Sherlock’s animated corpse was looking at John. Almost like he had done on that first day, when they had met. A wary analytic look almost as if he were an interesting bug. Mycroft gasped as he walked into the room, worried about the lack of gunfire. The creature, the zombie, his poor stupid brother wasn’t attacking John just looking and hope lit itself in Mycroft’s heart. His baby brother may still be in there.

           Sherlock’s head snapped towards the gasp and then he lunged at the wall growling and jaws snapping at Mycroft. His hands trying to find purchase against the smoothness of the wall, ignoring John completely.

           “Now brother dear, is that behavior really necessary?” Mycroft asked Sherlock straightening up and smoothing out his suit his umbrella twirling once again. “We will be searching St. Bart’s research lab. Must you always do things in such a difficult manner?” With that Mycroft stomped off giving out orders as he went.

           “Oi! Wait, what the hell do you mean? Mycroft!” John called out to Mycroft’s disappearing frame in the door way. His head popping back around at the sound of Johns voice.

           “Oh, nothing to worry about John, it seems my brother has just been even more foolish than usual.” Mycroft said leaving once again. Making transportation plans for Sherlock it sounds like from the way he was having his men clear a path to the street.

           With Mycroft gone Sherlock’s focus was back on John he was moving closer and growling once again. The growling was different then what he was doing at Mycroft but John couldn’t describe it. Killing people had never been difficult for John but here Sherlock was coming at him and the tremor was back in his hand.

           “I’m to tell you not to shoot him and that your transport will be ready in about three minutes.” Anthea said never looking up from her blackberry, her voice sounding bored, like she wasn’t in the middle of the frelling zed-day apocalypse. John was sure that she would have a mental break if he took that damn thing from her, and that would be the closest human reaction she could have.

           Sherlock continued his way over after she was done speaking getting closer and closer to John his face the same neutral look he usually has when in his mind palace. Once Sherlock was within arm’s reach of John he had put his arms up slowly the movement looking non-threating, still John’s finger stroked the trigger of the gun. Sherlock wrapped his arms around John lightly his head came down on his shoulder mouth turned away in an almost deliberate gesture so not to make John frightened. It was a hug.

           John wrapped his arms around Sherlock in return, listening to the quite groaning growling noises rumbling in his chest almost like a purring cat. It was the stead low slow pulse in Sherlock neck that caught his eye. Sherlock wasn’t infected, he wasn’t dead. IF Sherlock is alive, that means he could be saved. John jerked out of the hug, wrenching himself from Sherlock’s grasp. Sherlock growled and bared his teeth this was followed by a whimper. His arms reached up to grab John again.

           “Wait. Sherlock! Did you… did you do this to yourself!?” Sherlock’s lips quirked a bit slightly twitching like he wanted to smile but the muscles couldn’t quite work. John wanted to punch him but he was unsure of striking him while in such a state. So was he a zombie or not, technically he wasn’t dead, right?

           Sherlock grabbed at John again, pressing him close to his body. That’s when John felt it, something long and hard pressed into his leg. It was too low to be what he initially thought it was, rather embarrassingly. Reaching into the pocket of Sherlock’s coat he felt a glass tube and pulled it out, it was a vial of blood. There was two more in the other pocket all marked with Sherlock’s name and the code H1N7Z1, H1N7Z2, and the last H1N7Z3. John nearly dropped them when he felt Sherlock’s tongue drag across the skin of his neck, making him freeze.

           Anthea walked back in instructing the guards that John had forgotten to start tearing down the plexiglass cage all of them still staying behind the walls. They used then to make a walk way through the hall way and out the door to the awaiting bus.

           John moved away from Sherlock again getting the same reaction as before but to a lesser degree. Grasping Sherlock’s hand they walked together down the hall way Johns steps sure and Sherlock’s jerky and unsteady, but still they walked together.

           John and Sherlock followed the path there was a nondescript white van waiting at the end of the path back doors open and a handicap lift lowered and ready. The shaking guard was nowhere to be seen now, Mycroft must have called in someone with a steadier constitution. Not that Sherlock was any less unnerving as a zombie, he almost felt bad for the man. The plexiglass tunnel had shrunk in behind them guards filing out and clearing the area of any approaching threats.

           Most of London had been evacuated to military bases and sealed off inside the quarantine zone, thankfully the infection has not been found elsewhere. With an outbreak like this John was not surprised it never left the city not with Mycroft’s ever watching eyes running things. As it is John had heard rumor that the queen had been air lifted to some undisclosed location in a remote area. I wouldn’t surprise John if Mycroft had started that rumor himself in order to divert the attentions of anyone who might have been close to guessing the real location.

           Once John was in the van with Sherlock the guards had John close the doors. Mycroft was in the van with them Sherlock already growling and biting at the metal cage separating their half of the van from Mycroft’s. God, John was getting a headache.

           “Sherlock! Could you please, just STOP!!?” John yelled his aching head making his patience shorter than usual. Sherlock fell back into the seat next to John grabbing onto him again the low purring was back. “There, there, you overgrown cat.” John ruffled his hair gently looking over at Mycroft for an explanation to all this madness.

           “It would seem that my little brother has been doing quite a bit of research into the infection. The top scientist are looking into the notes he left in the laboratory.” Mycroft is looking intently at John now. “I will be needing those vials of blood in your pocket.” Mycroft stated casually, does the man never explain anything thoroughly.

           John got up to give him the tubes Sherlock growling and fighting against John’s motion to stand. Still with Sherlock hanging on like dead weight, no pun intended, John was able to push the blood through the bars into Mycroft’s awaiting hands. They were immediately placed in a cooler by his feet.

           “So are you planning on telling me what’s wrong with Sherlock, or am I supposed to guess?” John quipped in a sarcastic tone hoping Mycroft would quite with the mysterious dramatics already. Both the Holmes’ were _premadonna’s_ of the worst kind.

           “My baby brother has created a cure for the outbreak. He took it before infecting himself to test it. At least that is all I can deduce so far.” Mycroft said this with sigh as if it were some trivial matter. John almost wanted to comment on his diet. “The data he collected is being gone over as we speak. We should arrive at St. Bart’s in a few minutes, Anthea will direct you from there.

           The van arrived at St. Bart’s another plexiglass tunnel was waiting for them though this time it hardly seemed necessary with the way Sherlock as still clinging to John the occasional licking still disturbing him. Mycroft had said his goodbyes at the door and was off concurring a small country.

           “This is where you be staying these two rooms have been outfitted with everything you’ll need. Food and other necessities will be delivered periodically.” With that Anthea left and the guards bolting the door behind her.

           John did what John has always done in the exasperating circumstances like any good English man, made a nice cuppa. Sherlock didn’t drink his, John didn’t think he would but the act of making it was soothing. Sherlock was wandering aimlessly around his new surroundings. John could see him staggering about in the adjoining room. When Sherlock made his way back in John was already seated on the couch a medical journal in hand, he stared again unblinkingly his unwavering gaze looking for something. That’s when it happened like a flash Sherlock lunged at John his hands not flat and unthreatening but fingers like predatory claws ready to rend flesh from bone.

           John reached for his gun only to be crushed into the couch Sherlock’s weight pinning him down. Instead of hard teeth John’s throat was met with soft lips and tongue. The claws of Sherlock’s long bone fingers only tearing apart the fabric of John’s black and white stripped long sleeved shirt.

           “Ya know, for a man who never eats, you’re fairly solid.” John joked trying to pry Sherlock’s hands out of his clothes. A deep growl like a wolf started in Sherlock’s chest this was not the purr from before this made his hair stand on end, it was the sound of a predator. Sherlock had not attacked him yet so John had given up being worried that he would, after all he had ignored him the first 4 hours after their arrival.

           John brought his hand up and started to stroke Sherlock’s hair hoping it would calm him down and the hair raising growl stopped while the pads of his fingers rubbed at the warm scalp under his fingers. Warm was new, Sherlock had been a bit colder before, John used his fingers to check Sherlock’s pulse on his neck fingers never leaving his hair. His pulse was faster than it was before as well John started to keep a mental chart of the changes in Sherlock’s physical state.

           Sherlock’s fine motor skills were trashed, larger motions seemed to be easier but jerky even when done quickly. Eye motions were unfocused and seemed to cause issues with steady vision and settling on singular objects. There was a copious amount of wetness in Sherlock’s mouth as well, so either he was having trouble swallowing or an overproduction of saliva. Unconscious vocalizations, seemed to be something affecting him as well a bit like a messed-up version of rabies.

           John sucked in a sharp breath as Sherlock’s hands found their way into his trousers gripping at him through his y-fronts. Having bypasses the button and zip and just going over the waistband. The purring started up as Sherlock rocked his pelvis against John’s thigh. A low moan escaping Sherlock’s mouth and a gasp that sounded almost like a name. The rocking was getting faster and the soft kiss were turning in to rough bites but John couldn’t bring himself to care not with Sherlock trying to milk an orgasm from his body. John was close and so was Sherlock if the increased pace was anything to go by.

           “Fuck, wait Sherlock.” Johns protests were ignored in favor of pleasure seeking. Sherlock increasing the friction, but the bits were starting to hurt and, his trousers were digging into his hips. John finally gave in and undid the button and zip. The angle getting a thousand times better as Sherlock crawled into his lap and rocking their clothed cocks together, hold John close.

           ‘Oh god, those were teeth!’ John thought as Sherlock bit down particularly hard over his collar bone pushing John over the edge of climax. Sherlock’s body stiffened soon after, the low purring continuing as he went lax. Through this neither John nor Sherlock noticed that the door was open and a figure standing in the doorway.

**Author's Note:**

> Well So I gave this a bit of spit shine. Maybe it looks less like trash. idk. enjoy.


End file.
